Mirror Mirror on the Wall
by Gayneral
Summary: "It was not like he wished to be visible. By now, and it had took him some years to come clean with that, he knew that this was a part of him that made him the unique person he was. It was just that some days, he wished he could turn it off."


_AN:_  
 _-I love character studies so I made one_  
 _-I still haven't read the books, but I've read the grpahic novels and Millards "There are Days I wish I could turn it off" lead to me writing this_  
 _Enjoy_

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 _1940_

There were far more mirrors in the house than he'd actively realized over the years.  
He noted that down when he wandered through the old building one afternoon when there was really nothing better to do.

He'd already counted the spots in the ceiling of each room he was able to go into; Enoch had almost thrown him out of his when he'd tried.  
Those spots that appeared whenever Olive decided to accidentally meet the ceiling with her head, or feet, whatever reached it the earliest.

There were 35 of those.

He went on with counting those tiles in the wooden floor that creaked when you stepped on them.  
The house was already pretty old, so it was barely a surprise that there were quite a few of those, and knowing where they were would make walking around unnoticed far easier in the future.

There were exactly 247 and a half of those.

The half was a tile right in front of a doorframe that had been cut smaller to fit there.

Millard would've probably gotten quite a few odd looks from the kids if they would've seen him slightly move forward and backwards right in front of the doorframe, to test the tile for sounds.

But after all, if he did not wear any clothing, which was rarely the case, no one could actually see him.

It came in handy not only in this situation that possibly would've led to embarrassment, but ever so often in the day to day situations as well.

And above all he was used to it, barely realized it anymore, left for those moments where the Bird, with a strict tone in her voice, lectured him that polite people wouldn't take supper in the nude.

Being completely invisible had its perks really, especially in a house where no one quite cared anymore that he was and treated him just like any other visible person.  
It was far odder in the outside world, where he was forced to only appear naked to not attract any attention.  
But by now, what did it matter?  
Now that they lived in a loop that was reset every evening, being seen, or not seen in his case, by the normal people wasn't a problem anymore.

It wasn't as if he had minded only being able to go outside nude, he preferred not to wear anything if he had the choice, it was way more comfortable, no it was the fact that no one saw him.

Not that anyone, including himself obviously, did.  
That was what being invisible meant after all.

No, it was not being seen as a person.  
As if he was not there at all.  
Like being see-through meant that …he didn't exist.

It was a thought that was almost as frightening as it had been to realize that he slowly faded from the sight of eyes, back when he was a child.  
Even almost 87 years of living like this hadn't been able to strip him from this fear, this essential crisis.  
When others were around he easily played it off as annoyance.  
That he just disliked being forced to do the things that required staying unseen.  
And he was quite good at sounding believable.

It was when he started to count the mirrors, when he was confronted with those thoughts again.

There were a few small ones littered all across the house, in the other children's rooms hanging from closets or standing in corners and he barely looked at them, just mentally noting them down and vanishing from the room again to not attract any attention.

There was no mirror in his room; after all he didn't need one.

But there was one that went down to the floor, big, to view oneselfs whole body, in one of the long hallways that he couldn't avoid looking in.  
It was placed on the wall in a way that one'd automatically risk a look upon walking past it.

That's how he'd ended up in front of it, mirror number 10, staring at himself.  
Or more staring at the wall on the other side of the hallway.  
It got reflected in the tall mirror with the slightly golden frame and even as he moved from side to side a few inches from the glass, the view didn't change.

He'd seen Horace pose with the mirror quite often already, seen him shift, watch every angle of himself and fix his hair or his dapper black suit and throwing himself satisfied looks.  
When he did the same he felt utterly ridiculous.  
He felt himself move, felt his hands run over his hair but there was no sight of it in the mirror, no change, only the wall staring back at him, as if the hallway was empty.  
As if he was empty.

He knew he was there, he existed, he was still who he'd always been, but the world had shifted around him and made him disappear.  
He also knew that none of the other children, or Miss Peregrine, thought of him any less just because they couldn't see him.  
To them he was a person like any other and it was quite comforting to know.

But even as they treated him like any other, it happened ever so often that they'd bump into him, or spoke above his head.  
He never made them feel bad about that, even as they apologized profoundly, because after all it was never their intention.  
But on some days it didn't fail to make his heart sting just a tad.

It was not like he wished to be visible.  
By now, and it had took him some years to come clean with that, he knew that this was a part of him that made him the unique person he was.  
It was just that some days, he wished he could turn it off.

Even if it would be only for some hours.  
Only to look into the mirror like any other person and fix his hair, his suit, see himself smile back at him.

His dream of becoming a teacher he'd let go off a while ago, realistically viewed it was just impossible, no one could teach a class when the students wouldn't be able to see them.  
That was ridiculous.  
But it was also in those moments that he got heavy hearted when thinking about it.  
How it could've been if he'd been born without this peculiarity.  
Would he actually be a teacher now?  
Would he wear his hair exactly how his father had, that had been a teacher too, in the local school he would've went to as well if he hadn't started to vanish at the tender age of six?

It was useless to ponder about it; he knew it only made him feel sad and sometimes angry at himself and at God, for turning him this way.

So he turned away from the mirror in that empty hallway and tried to focus on something else.  
Like how many flowers he could find in the gardens perhaps.  
Deciding that this seemed to be quite the good idea he walked away from the mirror, only the steps he took over creaking tiles speaking the story of someone being there.  
On his way he foolishly found himself trying to remember if his eyes had been blue, or green or brown even, but really, he couldn't say anymore.  
The last time he'd seen himself had been years and years ago and there was no photography that he could check.

Not that there hadn't been any made of him when he was younger, but he couldn't take any with him, back when he had to leave his home.  
There really was no time to ask if they'd perhaps give him a picture so he'd one day check how he'd looked once.

At that time he hadn't even known that he'd forget one day, how could he, he'd not wasted a single thought on it.  
That some years later he wouldn't be able to recall the color of his hair anymore.

In a way knowing this was sad, too.  
Who even forgot how they looked like?  
Invisible people, was the answer.  
Now he internally scolded himself that he didn't note everything down when he was younger, like he did these days.  
That surely would've proved useful now.

But he didn't and there was no way to find out what he looked like and it was best to let the topic rest, end of it!

He forced himself to think of a kitten he'd spotted earlier out in the town.  
Not that he didn't see it before, it just always felt nice to do so again.  
Especially since he'd found out that apparently Cats could sense him, they always seemed to know where he was, even if it was impossible that they could know.  
But they did, somehow they never ran into him but approached him slowly and carefully, like they did with any other human.  
And after he'd earned their trust they'd also play with him like they would with any other person.

He always had to giggle when they licked his hands with their rough little tongues and he'd named every Cat he'd met so far.

Animals in general seemed to not make any difference in him.  
It was a very very comforting knowledge.

Things were a lot better now that he got used to it, than they used to be when he was younger.

Not that everything had been horrible back then, he'd loved his home after all, but things truly fell apart when he, and his very shocked parents, discovered his peculiarity.

 _1924 to 1931_


End file.
